Page 26

Chapter Twenty-Six

TANYL

P ain throbbed in my chest as Briar hauled another bucket of water into the cabin.

It was the fifth…or maybe the sixth. Either way, it was too damn many. Sylvie perched on the edge of her chair, her brows drawn and her bottom lip caught between her teeth. Guilt hung around her, whether from Briar’s efforts or her treachery I couldn’t have said.

And I shouldn’t have cared. I didn’t care. Because, either way, I couldn’t believe her.

The ache in my chest bloomed hotter, and I jerked my eyes away from my lying, scheming wife.

Briar upended the bucket, and steaming water poured into the copper tub he’d produced. Sweat beaded his brow, and muscle flexed under his shirt. When he finished, he ran the back of his arm over his brow.

“That’s enough,” I said.

He frowned at the water. “It’s barely half full. I can fetch?—”

“It’s enough. I know you didn’t sleep last night. And you’re a knight, not a chamber maid.”

Sylvie stiffened.

Good.

Briar cast a hesitant look from me to Sylvie. “All right,” he said slowly. Awkwardness descended, the three of us waiting for what came next. The sound of the ship’s creaking rigging drifted through the windows. After a moment, Briar went to the door and deposited the empty bucket next to it. He straightened, arms loose at his sides. He stuffed them into his pockets. Looked at the toes of his boots.

Sylvie lifted her hands, displaying the rope that still circled her wrists. “You’ll have to untie me.” A note of defiance entered her voice. “Unless you want me to attempt bathing with my hands bound.”

Briar startled, his gaze shooting to her wrists. He’d forgotten she was still bound, and, dammit, so had I. Because she was still so fucking beautiful even in a man’s shirt with her hair wild around her shoulders. Maybe because of it.

And I still wanted her. Despite everything, desire tugged hard. My anger was hard, too. Everything was hard—my cock, my heart, the lump in my throat.

“I’ll do it,” Briar said softly, and I nodded before turning my gaze to the river outside. His footsteps joined the creak of the rigging, and then his low murmur mingled with Sylvie’s higher-pitched tones. Silence followed, and their gazes were a presence at my back. Once again, they waited on me.

Suppressing a sigh, I turned my head from the window. Briar stood near the door, Sylvie in front of the chair. Steam rose from the tub in the center of the room.

I nodded toward it, hiding a wince when the movement made agony bite at my chest. “Go ahead,” I told Sylvie, pain making my voice sharp. “You don’t want your water to get cold.”

Her breasts lifted as she sucked in a breath. The past stretched between us, and I didn’t have to ask to know she recalled the night I’d ordered her to bathe in front of the fire. The parallels were obvious, right down to Briar standing watch.

Sylvie stared, an accusation in her eyes. She knew exactly what I’d done, arranging the bath and an audience. Gods, maybe I’d arranged it on purpose just to hurt us both.

Slowly, she began unfastening her trousers.

I should have told her stop. Should have turned away. Briar would have followed my lead. He was honorable. But he was also determined to protect me from her, so he stayed by the door, his gray eyes trained on a spot on the far wall. Discreet. Respectful.

I was neither of those things—and I was hard with hurt, so I looked, the ache in my chest throbbing harder as Sylvie slid the trousers down her legs. She didn’t look away. No, she kept her eyes on mine, anger in the blue-green depths. But there was disappointment too, and it didn’t make sense. Because surely by now she knew better than to expect discretion and honor from me. Not when it came to her.

Lanternlight caressed her long, slender legs. She stepped from the trousers, and the shirt dropped to her knees but not before I got a glimpse of the sweet, plump cleft between her thighs. A place I’d mapped with my tongue, discovering new territory with every stroke and sigh.

Briar shifted in my peripheral vision, and the tiny movement gave him away. Sylvie affected him, too. I wasn’t sure if it made things better or worse. But it made me harder…and angrier, and the two were intertwined. Decency dictated I send him away. Invent some excuse to spare him the torment of desire.

But my decency was as absent as my honor, so I kept my mouth shut and my gaze on my wife.

Her tits lifted again. Anger, defiance, and resignation were quiet little storm in her eyes, one emotion chasing the other. Defiance won, and her gaze didn’t waver as she flung down a final challenge.

“Are you going to watch the entire time?”

If I hadn’t been hurting, I might have laughed. It was the cruelest, most perfect set up, delivered with a tactician’s precision. She left me just one option. Just one response. So I gave it.

“You know what to say if you want to stop.”

The storm left her eyes, leaving the quiet devastation that followed a tempest. Like me, she had just one option. One answer. And we both knew it, the game we’d played for half a century turned on its head.

The air shivered. Our gazes held. And then Sylvie stopped the game.

“Na-tesku,” she said. I love you.

The ache in my chest sank its claws deeper. The words stretched between us, fingers reaching for my throat. The Old Language was dangerous, especially if the person speaking it was a liar.

“Tanyl…” she whispered. Tears sparkled in her eyes. “I?—”

“If you love me,” I growled, “Then obey me. Wife.”

Her mouth trembled. Despair covered her features, and it looked so real that it stoked my anger higher. Made my dick tighter.

Sylvie reached for the buttons of her shirt.

Briar spun toward the door, a dagger appearing in his hand. He strained like he listened for something. Then he whirled, a warning in his eyes.

“We’re not alone.”